


Apology-Fic 3, or, Honey, I Shattered the Kink-Meme

by Predatrix



Category: Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrell (TV), Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrell - Susanna Clarke
Genre: Anal Sex, Do I Need To Tag For "Non Con Only Not Really"?, M/M, Spanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-31
Updated: 2015-08-31
Packaged: 2018-04-18 07:41:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,080
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4697855
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Predatrix/pseuds/Predatrix
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The last of three apology-fics I wrote outside my normal parameters, for the kink-meme.</p>
<p>For the prompt, "Lascelles snaps, earlier than in canon, and chastises Childermass, maybe in front of someone else." What drew me in particularly was the subversive detail in the prompt that Childermass might be "biting his own lip and rolling his eyes with pleasure, but determined not to let Lascelles notice".</p>
<p>Then it mysteriously turned into Spiced Dumpling (Tumblr cute ship-name for Childermass/Norrell). Because reasons[1].</p>
<p>[1] The reasons were probably "because I was writing it".</p>
<p>Will now go back to my normal habits of writing. Do tell me if these suit?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Apology-Fic 3, or, Honey, I Shattered the Kink-Meme

Childermass knew how to sail close to the wind with his audacity. Before he was working for Norrell, he had been able to judge how far he was away from Too Far, to admiration. But his habits with Norrell, who permitted him to give practical advice, to give him speaking looks, and occasionally tease and mock, had taken him away from that finely-judged edge.

When Lascelles dropt a little splash of ink on the book he was reviewing, and demanded that Childermass should take the blame for it, Childermass should have done it. He knew that Lascelles was vicious, and determined to cause trouble. He knew that Lascelles wanted to drive a wedge betwixt him and Norrell. He even knew that Lascelles would like to take a whip to him: Norrell had given him a worried look one evening, told him of a comment Lascelles had made to him, and bade him be careful.

Instead, Childermass remained leaning comfortably against the wall and asked if he should send out for Mr Lascelles’ servant, because it was not among the duties of Mr Norrell’s man of business that he should tell such lies.

Lascelles was white-lipped with rage. “If I had brought my whip…”

“I doubt that Mr Norrell would permit such a thing in his library. Sir,” said Childermass. He was certain Norrell would not. It might injure a book.

“Henry, I really do not think you ought…” said Drawlight, and squeaked as this seemed to make Lascelles even angrier.

“Christopher, unless you wish to be next in line to be chastised,” snapped Lascelles, “I think you ought not to interfere in things which are not your business. Go and part an innocent young gentleman from his money—or his virtue—or his engagement; that’s more your style.”

Childermass remained leaning against the wall, it being the quickest way to communicate that he had no particular fear. Lascelles was a gentleman, and disciplining another gentleman’s servant in his own house was outside the bounds of propriety.

Which might have been a miscalculation. Drawlight’s beautiful eyes cast a speaking ‘I would help if I could’ look at Childermass, but he went to sit in the corner. Apparently, this left Lascelles with the impression he could do what he liked.

“Failing that, I shall use whatever comes to hand,” said Lascelles, and glared at Childermass.

Well, that was unexpected. In the cautious affair he was having with Norrell, he had found his master was uncomfortable with such games, and had been far too careful and not laid on with a will, rather to Childermass’s disappointment. Having somebody he _could not stand_ doing it for reasons unconnected with giving him pleasure would be difficult. He could not trust Henry Lascelles with anything. He could not even trust Lascelles with the knowledge of his own pleasure, because Lascelles would find a way to use it against him. Lascelles used everything against people: it was what he did.

Lascelles sat down and indicated his lap. “I shall discipline you as one does unruly boys, since you are neither a gentleman nor a proper servant.”

Childermass thought, _Don’t pretend that what you want is proper._ He was fairly sure that Lascelles was much more interested in doing it for personal reasons than to ‘discipline’ Childermass, whatever he said. “I’ve just come in from the stable earlier,” he said accordingly. “I would have considered you would have more of a care for your clothing.”

“Perhaps you are right,” said Lascelles, in a tone of faint disgust. “Then, lean over your master’s desk.” Lascelles was always happier to risk another person’s property than his own, even his ally.

Childermass sighed, turned to roll his eyes at Lascelles, and went over to lean on the desk, carefully first placing all the books properly on the shelves, so that only a pile of loose paper remained on the desk. “I doubt my master would be happy with this,” he said, certain Norrell wouldn’t. But at least with Childermass facing away and not in his lap, Lascelles would be less likely to find out Childermass was enjoying it.

“I’m sure he wouldn’t,” agreed Lascelles. “Luckily, he is not here, so we do not need to deal with his unnecessarily delicate manner of treating you, and you can be treated like the low creature you are.” His voice ended the comment somewhat thickly, as though he was finding the thought pleasurable. “Take your breeches down. You don’t deserve the dignity of a clothed beating.”

Childermass would have moaned if he was with somebody he trusted. He clumsily undid his breeches and small-clothes and shoved them out of the way, and his shirt-tails too. He hoped Lascelles knew what he was doing, because if he couldn’t do anything but submit he might as well subvert it with enjoyment. And Lascelles was good-looking, and quite strong. If it weren’t for his personality or his character, Childermass might have been interested.

After all that, the first blow was pretty-much a slap. _Useless as well as irritating,_ Childermass mused. But that was merely getting started.

“Count them out,” commanded Lascelles, and managed quite a firm whack. He was using a book. Childermass felt a trifle guilty, because his master would never find that acceptable, but on the other hand, he’d always rather enjoyed this, it was difficult to find somebody that could be trusted to give it to him (not that Lascelles could be trusted with anything), and… 

“Pay attention!”

“One,” said Childermass. A long pause, and as insolently as he could manage. “Sir.” He enjoyed his own insolence, and he enjoyed that it added the frisson of anticipation to his pleasure and pain.

He could hear the next blow coming as Lascelles laid on with a will. He imagined Lascelles actually whipping him, and the hot ridged marks it would leave on his backside. He’d think about it every time he sat down for a week.

“Two.” His eyes rolled back in delight with the pleasure of it as Lascelles reached for the heated skin and set his fingernails into it viciously. “Sir.” It wouldn’t take much for him to want to push his arse up and beg to get more of it—and that was the last thing it would be safe to do.

“This shows you what you’re worth, you Yorkshire gutter-cur!” said Lascelles, voice thick with arousal.

Childermass would be quite happy to scornfully berate Lascelles for his perversion if he wasn’t in a like case himself.

“Three,” said Childermass, almost gasping, “Sir.” He hoped Lascelles did not have particular ambitions of reaching a high count like twelve: that much attention would have him about ready to spend, and he definitely didn’t want to show Lascelles how much he liked it. He didn’t particularly want to do it in front of Drawlight, either, although he had less against Drawlight.

“Oh, you dirty piece of street scum!“ said Lascelles. From the sound of it, he’d be rubbing his prick if Drawlight were not here to keep a (thin) veneer of respectability on the scene. Childermass found that exciting in the state he was in, although he hated Lascelles enough he had no intention of letting him know it.

Lascelles stopped and managed another heavy blow with the book in his hand.

“Four,” said Childermass. “Sir.” He was biting his lip. Oh, if he could only get _Norrell_ to do this, it would be a treat, with somebody he trusted. But he couldn’t imagine Norrell having either the strength or the will to do it thoroughly. Lascelles had the strength, and the will, but was certainly not trustworthy even with this as mutual pleasure, since so much of his own enjoyment seemed to be to do with the idea that Childermass hated it.

Lascelles said, “You arrogant…disrespectful…insolent…Yorkshireman!”

Childermass said, “Yes?”

Lascelles managed another heavy blow.

“Five,” said Childermass. It was taking him to pieces, just the knowledge of how wild he was to have the pleasure of it, but dared not _do_ anything.

Lascelles struck him another, hard upon the previous blow. “And what did I not hear?” he asked indignantly.

“Sir,” said Childermass, doing his best to sound world-weary and indifferent, rather than furious and aroused at the same time.

The library door opened, and Norrell came in.

Lascelles drew his arm back and gave Childermass the next blow. His arse was hot and aching. So was his prick, by now.

“Six, sir,” he said. He didn’t want to add any more insolent pauses right now; he just wanted to get on with it.

“Sir, you are misusing my servant—and my book!” said Norrell, furious, and as if he was on the edge of calling Lascelles out for either infraction.

_Oh, he does care!_ thought Childermass, rather touched.

Norrell sent Lascelles and Drawlight out without ceremony, then locked the library door behind them. “Are you all right?” he asked Childermass, frowning.

Childermass rolled his hips. “Rather _too_ all right,” he admitted. “You remember I have a taste for that sort of game? Turns out it even affects me with somebody I hate.”

“I’ve told you before, I couldn’t do it easily,” said Norrell.

“How d’you feel if somebody’s done the tricky bit already?” said Childermass. “I couldn’t half go a good fuck like this.” He knew Norrell liked him to be coarse, if he was in the mood.

There was a gasp behind him. “Would you like me to put some salve on that for you?” asked Norrell, and Childermass remembered Norrell also had a taste for gentle and comforting behaviour easing into amorous pleasures.

“It would be very kind in you, sir,” said Childermass, humbly.

Norrell got the hand-salve he kept in his desk for when his hands grew dry and annoying in summer, and carefully applied it to Childermass, who rather liked the lavender scent and definitely liked somebody taking care of him. It was only after anointing every sore place he could find that Norrell coated a finger and slipped it in.

Childermass moaned.

“Hurt?”

“Not a bit of it,” said Childermass.

Norrell kept on working him open, carefully, until he had two fingers in Childermass and they were both breathless with pleasure. Then he wiped his fingers on Childermass’s small-clothes (which Childermass felt like complaining about) and got some soft cloth between Childermass’s prick and the desk (which Childermass didn’t feel like complaining about at all).

“Ready?”

“Mm,” said Childermass.

“Did you want him to fuck you?” said Norrell, going in much rougher than he usually did.

“‘f course not, you idiot. Not as if I could trust him with it,” said Childermass, as Norrell wriggled and thrust.

“But you wanted him to…thrash you?” said Norrell breathlessly, reaching to frig Childermass.

“Actually I wanted _you_ to thrash me, but you’ve never been too keen,” said Childermass. “All that time I was imagining being able to do it with somebody I could trust. I couldn’t even trust him to know I was enjoying it.” The pleasure of it was exquisite, knowing he’d been wanting it for so long and now Norrell’s warm, clean hand (and not Lascelles’ vicious hand) was tenderly taking care of him.

“He just came in out of nowhere and wanted to hit you? _My_ …servant,” said Norrell indignantly, keeping his rhythm going before and behind.

“He came and wanted something that wasn’t part of my duties,” explained Childermass. “He took it against me because I told him to piss off. Not in those words,” said Childermass.

“I should hope not!” said Norrell. 

They both groaned as the pleasure of it got particularly intense.

“I’m not hurting you?” inquired Norrell guiltily.

Childermass chuckled breathlessly. “Only in the best way. My arse hurts, and it feels hot all over, and I can feel your prick rammed up me as deep as you can go.”

Norrell began to pick up the pace with his hand on Childermass’s prick, as if trying to offer comfort to go with the pain.

Childermass groaned again, and spent thoroughly, which set Norrell off in turn. He sounded as though he was enjoying it.

There was a pause, full of catching their breath and setting themselves to rights.

Norrell gasped. “I didn’t even stop to worry about what books were on the desk!”

“Don’t worry, sir,” said Childermass, in a sated murmur. “Cleared it first.”

“Good man,” said Norrell.

It could all have gone a lot worse, Childermass considered.


End file.
